P s y c h e ButterflyHeart
by Prince SuperSharky
Summary: We're playing a multi-dimensional game of chess, hide-and-seek and poker. Everyone's got different kinds and numbers of cards, and oh—we're all cheating. I am the Mist. You can't win. One-sided?DinoOC—Not in the way that you'd expect...Or is it? *EDITED!
1. A Kiss to Make it Better

Asha!

"Yes, _Author-san?_"

You have to give them the warning!

"Why?"

Psh! I'll just do it myself then! Alright, readers...There will be blood. And because of useless Asha here, this fic will be a pseudo-crossover. It will have elements of other anime/manga, especially one by the name of D—MMHRMN!

"Alright. That's enough _Author-san._ They'll see soon enough anyway. So be quiet and stay in the back room. I'll take you for a walk later. Moving on."

_**Mmnfa!**_

"Please deal with that, tech team. Maybe you should gas her, knock her out. Just do it quickly."

_**Mmmhrmph! Mmmm—!**_

"…Good, it's quiet now. Hello out there, dear readers. I break the fourth wall frequently; actually, I'll just go right ahead and get rid of it. Hey, while you're at that, tech team, get rid of these quotations. Quotations are for pitiful characters speaking in stories.

That's better.

I know you're out there, readers, just thought you should know that I know.

Anyway, this is me, Asha Walker, the Magician, illusionist extraordinaire, at no one's service but my own. Currently 22-years-old. But let's focus on my 12-year-old self, alright? Red-eyed devil spawn, orange-haired, scrawny and bratty pretty much sums it up.

Since _Author-_san is currently out of commission, I shall take the liberty and initiative of giving the disclaimer.

_Ahem._

_Author-san, AKA Prince SuperSharky (obviously) does not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn. That belongs to the exalted Akira Amano. Author-san does not own anything at all. This is __my__ life. _**I**_ own it—therefore, _**I**_ own the plot. And as for me? __**I own me. **__Alright? _

Good~

Let's start.

* * *

><p>Question: Who would willingly hand themselves over to the Estraneo Famiglia for experimental purposes?<p>

I mean, I'm pretty sure that all of you out there have heard of a certain Pineapple Head, and of his experiences with said Famiglia. Stupid Nappo-kohai; he didn't get out of there when I told him to.

**Ahem.**

_So_, who's insane enough to just…hand themselves over?

Well, you see...the thing is... I belong to a Famiglia made up entirely of illusionists. The successor, the boss, is the Famiglia's strongest, most powerful illusionist. And usually to determine the strongest, we duke it out.

We are known as the Animus Famiglia.

Animus…_The soul; that which animates, gives life._

I was eleven when Old Man Animus renounced his title, basically allowing us to initiate the Battle Royale of mind-screw. Anyway, that's also when the family began to split into two branches—the _Oscura Famiglia_ and the _Noah Famiglia._ The Oscura rallied around a foreigner by the name of Torikabuto, while the Noah supported an Earl by the name of Adam.

A preteen brat was I; so I could do nothing but watch as my Famiglia tore itself apart. There were no casualties. But that depends on your definition of 'casualty'. No one physically died, per se. But many were turned into vegetables for life—their minds broken, driven insane by the images played out in their heads.

At the time, I was nowhere as strong as either of the two main contenders (or any of their subordinates for that matter), nor did I wish for either of them to inherit the Famiglia that was so important to me. So, I willingly gave myself over to the Estraneo, on the grounds that they would be able to make me stronger. I had nothing to lose, and everything to gain from their experimentations.

That's because _I _am not afraid of death. Death is my friend. Death has always been my friend. With each life that I've lived, and each death that I've experienced, I've grown stronger. And that power lay dormant until I chose to awaken it.

* * *

><p>The entire year that I was at the Estraneo compound, it was torture. Or rather...practice. The horrors that mankind could commit, I saw it all—saw it <em>all.<em>

As they strapped me to the machine, the fear I felt was bad enough, but to hear the screams of the people—_children—_around me, that was even worse.

However, the absolute _worst_ part of it all was the machine. That's when I saw the true cruelty of humans.

The contraption wrapped itself around my head, blocking off my sight; the darkness crawled in, taking over. As it crept in, it explored every nook and cranny of my head, and erased my mind of any thoughts. Then the blankness began filling in with memories—memories that weren't mine, but were so _familiar_.

In that year of my life that was taken from me by the Estraneo, I lived through eight lifetimes of pain. It was like a never-ending movie in surround sound, 3-D, 4-D, whatever. It was painful, and it never ended.

* * *

><p><em><strong>First reel.<strong>_

_Cauldrons of putrid potions and exotic fumes that curl up in exquisite wisps of smoke surround me. It's dark, and the only light in the dank room is from ancient incense and stubby stumps of long-burnt-out candles. Whispered words in languages that haven't been spoken aloud in millennia, the runes and letters weave themselves into a curse so potent, so self-righteous that the moon dares not shine on this night. Shadows dance on the walls, and I laugh at the sight. A black cat slinks around my feet, and I reach down to stroke it._

_The wooden door is knocked down with an echoing boom. The cat starts at this, and disappears into the night, its amber eyes glinting in the darkness. I continue to laugh as they bind me in chains and drag me away. For it is already too late, the spell is cast. The witch-hunt is at the peak of its bloodlust... But the Queen is already stone-dead._

_The next day, strapped onto the top rung of a ladder, I'm tipped face-first into the bonfire, laughing, laughing, laughing all the way. I got my revenge. This life was Hell, and even the Devil I worshipped did not want me. Death is not the end for me. I win again, you fools._

* * *

><p><em>Stop! No! I don't wanna'! I don't wanna' see any more!<em> I cried when the pain finally faded. The machine ground to a halt, and the experimenters detached me from the machine. They grabbed onto me, threatening me with sedatives when I tried to make a run for it. So frightened was I of the memories that were, but weren't, mine.

"We had a deal, child. Now cooperate. You wanted to become stronger...did you not?"

Shaking, I complied, though I did not want to feel the pain of death nor feel the fear of death again. I was seeing the life and death of a completely alien being. Their elation and liberation filled me; however _I_ was the one left feeling terrified as I fell towards the angry flames. She laughed as I screamed.

And yet, I went back to the machine willingly. _I'll be prepared this time._

I'd be prepared for the pain that this second time would bring.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Second Reel.<strong>_

_They say that a cat has nine lives. _

_Only the first is mortal. _

_Floating above the ashes of my body burned at the stake, I search for a willing container. My faithful familiar returns to my side, taking a seat beside the charred remains, meowing._

_I smile. _

Thank you for returning to me...

_I float down to the creature. Feeling our souls touch, I latch on._

Heh. Did you think you could get rid of me that easily?

_The average lifespan of a feral cat is five years. Albeit so that this is my familiar, the same thing applies. The fact becomes evident to me, and after a while, I quickly disengage, in quest of a host with a longer lifespan. The creature with the longest lifespan on this planet is __Homo sapiens._

_And so, I take over the kingdom's beloved Crown Prince. Using his fighting prowess, I was able to kill off the rest of the royal lineage. The superstitious holy men catch on sooner than I gave them credit for, and in a battle of wits, they finally catch me, and their beloved Prince, and he is exorcised. I have failed to kill him, and so, the line continues. _

_The Prince was never the same again. Some say he went mad, and some say that the devil took his soul for himself. I had failed to kill him, but I left my mark—on him, as well as his successors. They would be plagued by the same bloodlust as I was, yet haunted by the image of their own bloody hands._

_For centuries after this massacre, the citizens of the kingdom would pray that another tragedy like this, within the royal family, would never happen again._

_Once more, the Devil did not want me, so my second 'life' as a Ghost, a spirit, a __poltergeist__, ended. And another began._

* * *

><p>I was not prepared at all, even the second time. The screams lingered long after the people who the voices belonged to had died. And more screams, fresh screams from the test subjects around me continued to ring out in the darkness.<p>

They told me that the visions would get longer, and that I'd need to mentally prepare myself.

I'd asked them how long I was out for.

They gave me a drink of water and said, "One week."

I nodded. One week of blood and pain. Blood on hands of a man possessed by a spirit that wasn't me...or was it? _My head hurts._

They didn't care. They shoved a couple of pills into my hand, and forced me into a room with a bunch of other test subjects. The malnourished children gazed up fearfully at me, shrinking back when my gaze met theirs. Their deformities disgusted me, and I isolated myself in a corner, not wanting to come in contact with them. They, in turn, feared me, and didn't dare to approach me anyway.

Staring at the pills, I debated. Then I swallowed them. _They wouldn't kill me this soon would they? I mean, they still need me, right?_

The question was always: How much longer do they need me for? How much longer until I can finally leave? How much longer until I'm _strong?_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Third Reel.<strong>_

_The first days of my existence are filled with warmth and soothing noises. I don't know what's going on around me, but I feel others around me, and the faint aura of contentedness. So I assume that it's safe._

_An unprecedented amount of time passes, and my eyes open. The first thing I see is darkness, then I push myself onto my hands and knees. I wobble slightly before falling over again. _

Why?

_I stare down at my paws that seem too big for me. Orange tabby fur covers my paws. _

I see...

_The dark warmth rumbles comfortingly, and a rough tongue runs over my head. I peer up, and come face to face with black fur and amber eyes. _

Why, hello again..._ I purr back._

_I earn another lick to the head, and I survey the area. There are four other kittens in my litter—one smoky grey, one raven-black, one brown tabby, and one a rusty-red shade. With the creativity that I am known for, I dub them Smoky, Raven, Tabby and Rusty._

_At first, the paws take some getting used to. But the __tail!__ Oh, the __**tail!**__ I loved it. _

_Soon, my littermates and I grow from clumsy kits to inquisitive creatures. We prowl the alleyway that we were born in, scampering about under our mother's watchful eye._ _That is, until our mother is killed by a strange metal contraption that hurtles down the cobblestone roads. With a roar and a great collision, our source of food and protection is taken away violently by Fate. We were only a few months old._

_The five of us resort to foraging and begging for scraps. Smoky is taken in by an elderly couple who took pity on him. We watch from the alleyway as he grows smaller and smaller in the distance._

_Raven ingeniously found a way to tip over trash bins, and we gorge ourselves on the food that we could find. It's an acquired taste. We continue doing so, until one day, Tabby is killed by the guard dog, a vicious brute of an animal. The three of us run for our lives, out of the alley, away from the aggressor. We make our way back to the box where our pitiful lives had begun, cowering in fear, and unable to leave the safe-house for a few days._

_The three of us teach ourselves how to hunt. We practise stalking prey, and play-fight, tumbling over and over in a mixture of soft mewls and batting of paws. But when we put those skills into practice, it does not go well._

_Rusty is bitten by a snake and dies soon after._

_Then it's only Raven and I._

_We fare only a little better, the two of us, without being hindered by the rest of them. We share our spoils—field mice we chase down, skinny little jackrabbits that we ambush, and even small birds that we hunt on padded feet._

_Back in the alley that is our home, Raven leaps at a butterfly that flutters down next to us. I tackle him down, and smack him on the nose. He hisses quietly, but gives in. I growl quietly at him, before turning and crouching down, tail waving. I stalk forward on silent paws, and pounce on the butterfly. Ripping off its wings, I yowl loudly in declaration. __I am the winner_.

_I never see my littermate again; for the very next day, I'm caught by a pair of teenage boys, lured in by the promise of a meal. _

_Then comes the pain. The nail through my tail, leaving me hanging, dangling, swinging side to side from the tree. Then the hammer, crashing down on my frail bones, snapping them. A blade snaps out, glinting in the pale sunlight. I growl, swiping weakly at them, doing little to stop the blade as it comes down. I feel the blood flow, entrails seeping into my orange fur, dyeing it crimson._

_The average lifespan of a feral cat is five years. I made it to two years._

_My third life is by far, the shortest life that I've lived._

_But then again, in cat years, that's fourteen years old. At fourteen years of age, bludgeoned and tortured to death for brutal amusement. Such is the benevolence of humanity. Beasts have more civility, more sympathy._

* * *

><p>I cried out at the pain, struggling against the straps that bind me. Why was each death so painful?<p>

There's so much pain, so much _suffering_.

_There is no place that is safe._

Once again, they didn't care. They gave me another couple of tablets, telling me to eat them.

After each experience on the machine, I was given a brief reprieve—at most: 3 months, in which other tests were run on me, to keep my physical stamina up, and the least: a few minutes in which water and some form of gruel was forced into me.

It was a miserable existence. Yet, I pressed on. How many more would there be? I did not know.

But I endured it, the thought of glorifying my Famiglia always at the front of my mind.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Fourth Reel.<strong>_

_I enter the cockpit readily. I'm prepared for the air raid, for the next bombing of London. _

_In order to achieve the grandeur of the Führer's Third Reich, his faithful Nazis will follow._

_A dashing young man was I, and eager for some adventure, I became a pilot—and a ferocious one at that. What else is there for me to do?_

_I enjoy every death I cause. Every plane I shoot down is another accomplishment, another experience under my belt. I relish in the attention and the pride that fills me at every enemy plane that spirals away, breaking a brief hole in the cloud-line. They always leave a perfect coil of smoke in their wake, and allow a glimpse at the ugly warzone below. People run, screaming for shelter, and I smile, releasing my package of explosives._

_Then I bank quickly to avoid the onslaught of the British Spitfires. They fire at me, and I corkscrew, ending up behind them, and gladly return fire tenfold._

_I love the exhilaration of having bested other more experienced pilots. I engaged many of them in an aerial dogfight, and won. I survived, because I was stronger, more agile, wilier; I was __crueller__ than them, without a sense of honour to hold me back. I was a __winner._

_But as they pursue me through the greying clouds, I realize that this time, there's too many of them for me to fight off. There's too many of them for me to duck under their defences and retreat. Their forces are too heavily laid on me for me to even try to thin their ranks and force my way out. I'm out of gas, and all of my ammunition is already used up._

_I feel the bullets cut through the metal of the plane I'm piloting, and carving their way through my flesh. The engine sputters, and then stutters to a stop. The metallic confines of the plane will be my coffin._

_The Allies all the world over would cheer at my death, the death of a Luftwaffe pilot. I spiral down at an amazing speed towards my death, just as many others have died before me, just as many more will continue to die in this bloody, pointless war. The ground zooms up at me, and I smile wryly—I really have become a Demon._

_I welcome Death with open arms. _

* * *

><p>Mercifully, I blacked out before my death. I struggled in my bonds once again, until someone came to untie me.<p>

More tests. More pain.

More of the children's fearful faces. More of their crying, their whimpering, their screaming. I shudder at the memory. Did I cause them pain and anguish like this?

_Their hollow gazes look almost accusing now._ I turned away to face the wall, away from their sad eyes. I swallowed the pill and waited for my next experience with the machine.

_What else is new?_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Fifth Reel.<strong>_

_I am a promising young dancer, a ballerina._ _I loved to dance, it was my passion. _

_But my budding career is cut short at my discovery of Muscular Dystrophy. I could no longer dance. Instead, I'm to be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of my life. My speech slurred, and my family abandoned me, as did my many avid fans. Other than for tabloid writers sent to mock and ridicule me, I was wiped from the face of the Earth. I was forgotten._

_It is truly a miserable existence._

_But perhaps, it was all to atone for the sins of a previous life. I don't believe in reincarnation, though, maybe it stands that if I were to reap all of the pain that I'd sown...it would be enough to kill me. And yet, that still wasn't enough. So I lived on. It was a life filled with hatred; a hatred of all things pretty and beautiful—all things beautiful in motion, or still life. Because they could move, they could choose and decide when or where to move. I stay stationary while my heart dances and travels far away from my stone body as it degrades._

_Weakness...trapped...unable to move—unable to even turn around or incline my head as I hear the subtle creak of the door. The feeling of dread, of knowing that something's wrong, of __**something's behind me, and no, I'm not making this up, something's there and it's not good, and I want to turn but I can't and it's not even like I'm frozen in fear it's like my body is dead and has been for the longest time, and I can't move because I'm practically paralyzed and oh God that I never believed in I just don't want to die I don't want to feel that pain again. Please no. Please, intuition, be wrong this time.**_

_No such luck. And as my wheelchair is wrenched around, in that split-second, I have to wonder:_

_Was it planned? A hate crime? Intolerance? Or was it just plain cold-blooded, random murder?_

_The boy with the bleached-white hair smiles before swinging the crowbar down, smashing my jawbone. My head is wrenched to the side, and I spin out of my wheelchair, slamming into the wall. I feel my neck crack, but the pain from that is nowhere close to the pain in my face. But the blow wasn't enough to break my spine. It would've been better if it did, because the second boy pulls out a knife and stabs down on my leg. I cry out, but he just drags the blade through my flesh and lets the blood bubble forth from the gash. He pulls the knife out, then proceeds to hack away at my leg. Yes, it would've been merciful if my spine had been broken. _

_But I am helpless to do anything, confined in an unmoving statue of a body—all glass and nerve endings._

_The white-haired boy laughs lightly and drops his crowbar in favour of something a little more...heavy-duty._

_The device roars to life in his hands as him and his partner-in-crime back away, cackling madly._

_Humans...disgusting._

* * *

><p>I jolted up, away from the chainsaw, and cracked my head open against the inside of the machine.<p>

I screamed, and screamed, and screamed, struggling against the bonds, smacking my head against the confines of the machine until someone came to let me out. And even then, I continued to scream. I screamed until my throat became raw and my voice became nothing more than a hoarse rasp. I didn't even know what I was screaming—were they words? Were they primal sounds of fear? The unintelligible cries were silenced by the heaviest of sedatives. And even then...my mind continued to cry like a twelve-year-old who'd just been hacked to pieces by a chainsaw.

Sleep brought nightmares. Sleep was synonymous with death. Though waking life was not much better.

I was pretty sure my eyes had become hollow in appearance—like the other experimental subjects. But only in appearance.

I was still holding on.

_I will be stronger. Yes, I __**will**__._

But I fought against the drugs in a fitful rage, staying half-conscious.

I didn't want to stay awake, yet I didn't wish to sleep.

_I don't want to die._

_Nowhere is safe._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Sixth Reel.<strong>_

_There's nothing. There's black and there's white, and they're one and the same. Moving in place, they retrace their steps as they charge backwards in a tumble of grace._

_This time...there's no pain. No pain, no sensation at all. Is this what Heaven is like? _

_There's nothing but multi-chromatic nothing. There are explosions of dark brightness in the dawn of night. They're not opposites, no. But how else do you describe something that you don't remember?_

* * *

><p>I began noticing it after the sixth lifedeath/nothingness that I was shown. Upon the removal of the device, the previously dim room had gradually darkened to what it was—pure darkness. My eyes had lost their ability to adjust to the dark—Nyctalopia. No longer could I see without the aid of light.

I grit my teeth, and demanded a reason. I received nothing but a month of physical exercise, and found my muscles to be unable to support my weight properly. I determinedly threw myself into intense workouts under their eagle-like observations through one-way glass—white lab coats, glinting glasses and pens racing across crisp paper stacked on clipboards.

So I kept my mouth shut, and concentrated. I was to grow stronger. I was to grow stronger, and defeat both Torikabuto and Adam, then lead the Animus Famiglia into a glorifying existence, and allow our family to flourish.

To escape the horrors of the experimental subjects around me, I allowed myself to be strapped back in to the machine.

I welcomed the machine and the horrors that it brought.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Seventh Reel.<strong>_

_There is no such thing as magic...Right? Illusions are tricks of the mind, a simple misconception of your perception. Right?_

_That means that this must be some sort of alternate world, an alternate reality with different laws of physics, and people with powers so undeniably strong._

_For __this__, this is magic._

_They say that Rome is a holy city, same with Constantinople, Jerusalem, Bethlehem and Lhasa._

_They were all holy cities. _

_That fact meant little to me, and even less to the Akuma that attacked them._

_We are Exorcists of the Black Order; and wielding a sacred material called Innocence, we destroy abominations made of Dark Matter called Akuma._ _These Akuma are created by the Millennium Earl and his Noah Family, who believe they are a race of superhumans._

_Akuma are created from the sorrow and despair of humans. When a person dies, the Earl appears before those who are in mourning, and promises them that he'll bring back their deceased loved one—they only need call out the name of the person._ _And if they do, the deceased is brought back—their soul is chained to a contraption made of Dark Matter. Then, the Earl instructs the soul to kill the person, and wear their skin. _

_These Akuma blend in with society, killing more people in order to grow stronger and evolve. And the more people that they kill, the more sorrow that they breed. We Exorcists are fighting a losing battle. A few years ago, I would've liked to say that we were fighting an uphill battle...but now...there is no more hope. Yet, we trudge on._

_We, the Black Order, and the Vatican that it serves, stand no chance against them. We were fighting a losing battle to begin with._

_I am in tune with my Innocence, with a fairly high Synchronization rate of 91%—I am strong. And yet, I was still powerless to save the lives of the people. I couldn't save them, couldn't defeat the Akuma, couldn't stop them from destroying the Innocence fragment, couldn't stop them from killing my fellow Exorcists._

_I couldn't even raise my arms to defend myself as the Level 4 Akuma leapt down from the cathedral rooftop. How pathetic is that? An Exorcist who can't manage her duties, and is killed, not even in action, but by __falling chunks of rock at that__._

_So I went from devil-worshipper to a servant of God. The Memory would stay with me through Death. But for me, there was only Oblivion, who raised her sweet arms to me when all else rejected me or was broken._

* * *

><p>I waited for my liberation from the machine. But the experimenters never came.<p>

But the darkness came. Yes, the darkness sank its fangs into me, pressing in, pulling me away from 'reality'. What's really _real_ anymore? And I gave in and let it pull me under.

I guess I was wrong. _This time, there _is_ no reprieve._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Eighth Reel.<strong>_

_I am awake. I am awake._

_I burst forth from the pool of water, gasping for air. Kicking my feet, I quickly pulled myself from the water. Surprised, I find myself in the body of a child. I shiver at the edge of the pool, naked and utterly alone in the dim lighting._

_Dim lighting? I search for the light source. It's coming from all around me. I crawl over to the nearest one, and gasp, pulling back. The pool is glowing. And inside floats a child, barely submerged, incubated in the phosphorescent liquid. I peer in again, and recoil once I see the chest moving—it's __breathing.__ It's __alive._

_The child has raven-blue hair that seems to billow around him in the water. It __is__ a 'him'...isn't it? I can't tell, and I can't get a good look at his...ahem...'Parts' from this perspective._

_I back up, and peer back into my pool. That means that I was just like them. What could this mean? Why are we all here?_

_I pace around, peering into more of the pools. They're all asleep, all hibernating, all __dormant.__ It's as if they're all waiting for something...but what?_

_I stare at the brown-haired boy, wondering who he was. Why's he here, too?_

_But soon, I hear voices, and there are men dressed in black robes that lead me away._

_Memories of my previous life flash before my eyes._

_I remember. The Black Order. Akuma. Fighting. The Noah Family. War. Blood. Pain. _

_Innocence. _

_I reach for it, willing the connection—the Synchronization—to work._

_I am brought before a giant. The colossal woman towers over me. Her hair tumbles to the floor in the form of intricate tentacles that give off the glow of innocence._

_I don't struggle as she picked me up with the glowing tendrils, for I could sense the gentleness in her touch, the calmness that emanated off of her like rolling fog. Or maybe I had already gone insane._

"_Don't be afraid, child," she says._

"_I'm not afraid of you," I answer._

_I feel her tugging at the memory of my past life as an Exorcist. The images fly past my eyes. _

_**Running across rooftops, dodging shots of dark matter. Then leaping, jumping higher, rearing back, and slashing forward with a glowing scythe. **_

_**The explosion of the Akuma brings the pleasurable feeling of victory.**_

_I reach out to the Innocence fragment—__my__ Innocence fragment. It pulsates._

"_That's mine. That's my Butterfly Knife, isn't it?"_

"_Yes...It was..." the woman breathes._

"_Hevlaska!" a voice calls._

_The woman looks up. That must be her name._

"_Test subject Zero—the first to awaken. You are the first of the Second Exorcist Project. Formerly Exorcist Ashton Walker. Innocence: Psyche Scythe, otherwise known as the Butterfly Knife. Synchro rate: 91%. Hevlaska, you may begin."_

_I don't understand. I don't know what's going on._

_I stare up at the woman as she brings the Innocence fragment closer._

_Then, it's like there's a spark. I can see it, and I reach out to it, but at the same time, it's like it's rejecting me._

_Attracting and pulling, rejecting and pushing. _

_This body is unable to take the strain of forced Synchronization, and crumbles._

_It's painful, but, it quickly regenerates._

_It's almost shameful how they force a child to fight. Though, debatably, I am an adult in an eight-year-old's body._

_Eventually, the damage becomes too much, and I can no longer regenerate._

_Kanda Yuu would never learn of my existence. As long as the corrupt Order is concerned, there had only been one success in the Second Exorcist project. _

_If my Memory serves correctly...then I'm sure that I saw Hevlaska cry. I smiled though. It wasn't her fault. It was a quick Death this time around—I never knew what happened. _

* * *

><p>I opened my eyes, almost afraid to move.<p>

What was that all about?

Innocence...Dark matter...Akuma...?

But one thing stood out to me—The Millennium Earl was _Adam._ And he led the _Noah Family._

_I fought against them. I _am_ fighting against them._

What kinds of parallels are being drawn here?

(None that make any sense...)

I pondered this as the experimenters measure my height and weight and test my reflexes again. Needless to say, my reflexes were bad, and I'm malnourished and barely of a healthy weight. I pondered this as the experimenters shove me into the room again with some sludgy porridge which is _supposed_ to be nutritious and jam-packed with nutrients and vitamins and all that jolly good stuff.

It tasted like sludge. Simply _exquisite._

That must have been some alternate reality in which I was fighting them.

Yes...

But who's to say that the Estraneo weren't planting fake images and memories into my head?

_Because they're too familiar, Asha..._

_Yes...that's right. They _are_ my memories. But not mine. That is to say, that they _were_ mine._

My head hurt.

* * *

><p><em>On the ninth cycle, I'm surprised to see my own life flashing before my eyes—the memories of this lifetime condensed into a speed film. <em>

_Every laugh, every smile, every tumble from my bike. Every band-aid sealed with a kiss to make it better. _

_Every time I'd stolen a cookie off the tray, every time I was caught because I wasn't fast enough, every time I got my fingers burnt trying to run away. And every laugh and tear as I was caught and a kiss to make it better. _

_Every hairclip that fell down the drain. Every reprimand that I received. Every matching pair of hairclips that were bought to replace them and a laughing kiss to make it better._

_Every test I failed and tried to hide, every time I tried to climb out of my window, trying to hide, every time I fell out of the tree. And every scolding that I received for that and a kiss to make it better. _

_Every time I was told no, and every time I went ahead and did it, every 'I told you so', every 'I __told__ you not to'. And a consoling kiss to make it better._

_I relived every moment that I could remember. Each memory of my twelve years of life was vivid, with high resolution, and was jam-packed into a brief two-week period. _

_Of course, that also included all eight other lifetimes. So, in total, eight and a half lifetimes of pain, forced into my head within one year._

_(Though, if you want to be technical, then it was sixteen lives plus two of the same half-of-a-life's. However you want to add that...it still equals the same amount**—pain.**)_

* * *

><p>I'm lucky to have kept my sanity...somewhat intact.<p>

Because that whole ordeal was worse than Chinese Water Torture.

There is no kiss to make it better this time.

There won't ever be another kiss to make it better—_they_ made sure of that.

Oh yes, I can Dream—yes, that's the only thing I _can_ do.


	2. A Prologue of Sorts

This is the story...no, a collection, an anthology of tales, peculiar chronicles, all concerning one person. One dangerous, hit(wo)man—The Magician herself, Asha Walker.

"That was total adjective abuse. That was what, a failed attempt at poetry or something? It didn't sound at all epic."

H-Hey! What're you doing, Asha? It's not your cue yet! Get back! You just ruined your epic entrance!

"_Yeah, I guess the tech team went a little overboard last time. I guess _Author-san_ here forgot that we've already started…After all, what's the prologue doing in the second chapter…?"_

Yeah, just go backstage while I finish up. Che. Sorry about that everybody. Asha's _Mary-Sue-ness_ is acting up again. Yes, you read right. Asha Walker, 22 years of age—well, I'll describe her 12 year old self so as not to give away any spoilers... _So,_ Asha Walker, 12 years of age, orange hair, red eyes, way too skinny, unhealthy, malnourished, creepy grin, and even creepier giggle... _might be a Mary Sue._

There's something off about her character—even I, her creator, can't seem to put my finger on it. If you'd wish to enlighten me, please do.

"I'm _**not a Mary-Sue! **_A _Mary-Sue? _I assure you that I am not one of those...disgusting little cretin. You're embarrassing yourself, _Author-san_. Maybe you should…y'know…_take a break._ Just stay in the back room for a while. I'll sub in for you…just for a bit. No...I lied. It's a coup. Accept it, deal with it. I'm in it to win it—_all_. Now kindly step aside, please don't make me resort to violence. You know how I hate getting my hands dirty."

What're you—_**Gack!**_

"Ahem…Why, hello there, dear all! This story has just been jacked by yours truly, the Magician, not-exactly-in-the-flesh! ...What're these quotation marks for? They're only for characters speaking in a story. I thought we went through this last time…

Thank you, tech team.

And, dear readers, let me tell you in advance: _I_ write my story. Got it memorized? [KH reference x)] If you forget, let the author, who's tied up in the backroom right now, be your last reminder. _Kshesese~_

You are a privileged few, to read this story from my point of view. I hope my perspective will hold sway over your opinions, dear readers~!

I'll warn you now (so don't say that I didn't warn you). Remember, dear children, that I am of the Cloud, _and_ of the Mist. I am an illusionist, far stronger than that silly Pineapple-Kohai of mine. And, as a Cloud/Mist illusionist, I steal your flames and subject you to cruel mind-fuckery for my pure sadistic enjoyment. So it goes without saying: If dear _author-san_ here roasts marshmallows with Byakushi with your flames, then your flames fuel the Magician's wrath~! So, flame me, go for it. More mind-fuckery will ensue, courtesy of my imagination, and fuelled by your own flames. So you only have yourselves to blame~! This, as the honourable liar that I am, I promise you.

Oh, also...there will no longer be an author's note. Because I said so. And because I am an erratic person like that, you'll be confused a lot of the time. That's good. You're supposed to be. If you have any questions, go read my dear Daemon spawn's tale—Starfire. That might clear some things up. Our tales are intertwined. But if the answer is not there, then…well, there are other tales that haven't been told…yet.

_Oh…_Will you listen to little _Author-san_ scream in protest? It appears that I have given away a little too much information. She doesn't seem to be very pleased. And thus concludes my very brief (second) introduction. You see? Much more epic than what dear _Author-san_ could've done.

_Ku. Fu. Fu._

Yeah, I went there.

Oh…Hold on. _Author-san_ wants something. Ah yes…She wants me to tell you some of my past.

Hmm…Well, what do you want to know?

I'm a Mafioso. And you've probably deduced that I am in fact, an illusionist. You are wrong. I'm not an illusionist. I am _the_ illusionist. Got it?

And you probably decided to read my story because it said 'DinoOC', and the summary sounded slightly sketchy. Well, let me tell you, Dino and I didn't get along well at first, in fact, it wasn't pretty at all. But, that will have to wait for another day, because _I_ am growing tired of this. It's barely making six hundred words, and I doubt that it'll reach _Author-san's_ goal of one thousand.

I'm bored.

So instead of rambling on and on, I'll hand this over to our beloved _Author-san_.

[_Gasp_] "Oh! I can breathe again! Eh? …Why am _I_ the one with quotation marks? It doesn't matter right now…Dammit, Asha! I'll lock you up in Vindice again, I'll hand you over to the Estraneo again if you ever—_Oh snap_."

Nice going there, _Author-san_, you gave away some spoilers yourself. _Now_ what will the readers think of you?

"**No!** You manipulated me, Asha! No! I didn't mean to! I'm sorry readers, I'm sorry!"

I did no such thing. I'm actually rather offended by that comment. I did not, in any way, manipulate you into giving out spoilers. You did so of your own volition.

"Hey, don't get smart with me, Asha. I created you, and I can kill you off just as easily—_**Hey!**_ Don't you walk away from me young lady! No, seriously, Asha. Don't go! I mean, I'm still tied up! Hey! Hey! I'm sorry, readers. Truly, I am. Well, Asha…she's always been a bit of a problem child. Of all of my brain-children, she's probably the most trouble. She gets into all sorts of mischief that I'm sure you'll all love reading about. So please, I know that she's rough around the edges, but will you please give her a chance?"

Problem child? Why thank you, _Author-san_.

"Asha! You're still here? Good! Now kindly untie me."

No. I refuse to do your bidding. I'm the Magician.

"You're so arrogant, Asha."

I'm an illusionist. It's in the job description. I'm allowed to be arrogant, conceited and slightly mysterious.

"Che. Then I'll—_**wait! Hey! Dino! Dino! Help!"**_

"Hunh? Hey, Author-san, Asha. What're you doing?"

"Dino! Dino! Quick! Untie me!"

"Why? _Asha…_"

Don't look at me. _Author-san _got herself tied up over there.

"Oh. Okay. Hold still then, Author-san."

"W-Wait a minute, Dino. Where's Romario?"

"Oh he's somewhere. You have to stay still so I can untie you."

"No! Dino!"

And so that's how the self-proclaimed _Author-san_ and the idiot Bucking Bronco end up tied up together. Problem solved. Now there's no one to stop me from taking over the world. Sure, there's competition, but no one can stop me. I'm in this twisted game to _win_. Anything is possible with me. So expect the unexpected.


	3. The Jack of Spades and the King of Clubs

_Author-san_ is pleased to present you with a double update. She would also like some feedback. Well, more like she _demanded it_ (bossy woman...). I, on the other hand, couldn't care less. Do what you will.

And because I take pity on you foolish mortals, I shall speak "Like this now. Just for clarity's sake and your benefit. Be grateful, dear readers. Now, let's begin where we left off, shall we?"

* * *

><p>I was mind-screwed by the Estraneo.<p>

Yeah.

Mind-screwed then released from the psycho ward.

Does that make any sense?

After the ninth reel, they checked me over and did a final, extensive test where they screened me for diseases and analyzed my physical prowess (or lack thereof). Other than that, they left me with nothing save for a massive headache. They didn't even bother to feed me my last supper, nor clothe me. They stuck me in a MRI scanner—which was terrifying by the way (but of course, no one asked _my _opinion)! It caused excruciating pain in my eyes, and I pounded on the walls, screaming to be let out. But of course, my _requests_ were ignored.

Then, I was released. Or rather—_thrown out._

_Arrivederci_.

I stormed out with said massive headache. They had done _nothing_ for me. All that time—wasted! I could've been training myself to become stronger—with my _own_ power!

Stumbling into town, I realize that I have no money on me, and that I have no idea where I am.

But somehow, somehow I manage. I wheedle some money out of pitying passerby. I have no qualms with stealing—not after witnessing so many more horrible, _heinous_ acts. Though, I'd rather put on a sad expression and mope around, preying on their sympathy.

Now, pockets loaded with cash, I flag down a taxi.

Getting in, the driver looks at me suspiciously.

I stare back at him through the rear-view mirror until he finally looks away, asking, "Where to?"

I answer with a smile, "Palermo."

His eyes widen, and he spins around in his seat to glare at me, "Is this a joke?"

I blink, tilting my head before replying, "No, good sir. I assure you that I am not joking. I must get to Palermo as quickly as possible. So, if you could be so kind, you may begin driving. Or, if you don't mind, simply hand your vehicle over. I'm sure I can figure it out on my own."

He's practically foaming at the mouth.

"Seriously? Kid. Go home. You're wasting my time. We're in Torre Vendicari right now. And you want me to drive you all the way across Sicily to Palermo?"

"Well...I _was_ going to ask you to take me to Arezzo..."

He convulses in his seat.

"I was only joking...about Arezzo," I wave my hand nonchalantly, "Take me to Palermo."

Needless to say, I find myself on the streets again. For all my money and charm...he wouldn't drive me all the way to Palermo.

So...Doing what any mind-raped twelve-year-old illusionist would do, I hitchhiked.

Or rather, I wrapped the poor drivers in an illusion so tight that they never knew I was sleeping in the backseat.

They never knew where their pasta and cold cut salami went either—that is, if they still remembered that they were going on a picnic by the time I was done with them. But I reimbursed them with a handsome pile of Euros.

From one family, I had to force the children to clear the backseat for me, making them move to the middle row of their van. In their crowded vehicle, I acquired a new pack of cards. Breaking the seal carefully, I open the crisp new package.

Shuffling through the cards, I smile to myself. It's been a long time since I held a deck of cards. It's been a long time since I did _anything_ really.

I pull a card out of the pile, and it slides out in a smooth motion that makes me smile in appreciation.

Then I frown as I see the card—The Four of Diamonds.

Of course, the first tarot reading (style á la Asha) that I do with this new deck of cards ends up in me drawing a card like this.

_The Four of Diamonds: Quarrels with long-lost family. Situations that have been brewing now come to a head._

I heave a sigh, then reshuffle the deck.

Forget it. Solitaire's a lot less confusing...And I can cheat at _that_—pulling cards from the piles when I run out of useful cards in the deck. But, I can't cheat Fate...and that's what takes away the fun.

* * *

><p>It takes about half the day, and various <em>transfers<em>. After slipping in and out of half-consciousness, and upholding a weak illusion, I find myself in Palermo. I thank the last elderly couple and empty my pockets of the rest of the money. I rummage through their cooler, and fill my empty pockets with egg salad sandwiches. I grin, and thank them again as I clamber out of the car. They nod vaguely, and pull away.

I turn to face the winding path that leads up the hill to the secluded Animus mansion. Making my way up the long road, I remind myself to keep calm.

I return to a Famiglia in shambles, Torikabuto slain—or rather, _incinerated_, by Adam. The Oscura branch—dead, all murdered by Adam and his Noah branch. My parents, who sided with the Oscura...are gone as well. The Animus is no more. There are only the victors—the _Noah Famiglia._

And so, at the ripe age of twelve, I fashioned my own personal vendetta. As I stand in the open archway of the mountain hall, I can see that they also seem surprised to see me. And as all bloodthirsty twelve-year old illusionists, thought to be dead, with a personal agenda, and vendetta, do...I let myself in, sauntering up and pulling up a chair. I quickly take a seat—my knees feel weak, and I need the support, else wise I might fall over in a graceless heap.

I don't—can't—recognize any of their faces, save for one. It's Adam, of course. He recognizes me, though. Both parties are tense, not knowing how to (re)act.

Not knowing what else to do, I prop my feet up on the long oak table, and demand for some chocolate milk and cookies. They are stunned speechless. Then, Adam chuckles, and they all look to him, relaxing.

_Them_ relaxing puts _me_ on edge.

Nevertheless, they grant my request—promptly and with a flourish. They're mocking me—service with a smile. A pair of teenage boys, one with short black hair, and the other with longer blond hair appears at the doorway, both wearing heavy makeup. The black haired one places the plate of various fruits, candy, and cookies in front of me, while the ditzy blond one pushes a cart full of enticing drinks in front of me.

I leave the food untouched, though my stomach growls, and my hand itches to grab the plate and run. My mind seems to make the message awfully clear—_poison._

"Why don't you go ahead and eat?" A girl around my age pulls herself up to sit on the table, at Adam's side.

I stare at her in shock for a moment. Who is she? When did she get here? I didn't even notice her as I entered the room, nor did I see her entrance. Then, I compose myself, "You first, I insist."

She smiles venomously back at me.

I smirk back at her, but that's quickly transformed into a look of surprise as she reaches out to pluck a cherry off of the top of the pile. She dangles it in front of her face before casting a belittling, half-lidded smile at me, head lolling on her shoulders, "Heh..."

She eats the cherry, and spits the pit at me. It falls short, but I flinch anyway. She leaps off the table, twirling around me, giggling, "We're different from you, dear Asha..." she simpers.

I glare at her from my seat.

She whirls away, dress swirling around her. She laughs, then pauses rigidly. She falls backwards towards the floor.

My eyes widen. She's..._dead_.

As she hits the ground, she explodes into glowing particles of dust.

I continue to stare at the spot where she disintegrated.

"Now, Road...that's not very nice, now is it...?" a man with a monocle approaches me, "I'm afraid you'll have to excuse my daughter...She's a little..._whimsical_." His expression turns adoring, and another man, dressed in a smart suit pulls him away.

The second man mutters, "And you'll have to excuse _him._"

"So...What brings you here, little Asha?" Adam calls from the head of the table.

I turn my attention back onto him, "I wish to challenge you for the title of Don Animus."

The Noah situated around the room fall silent, turning their eyes on me. Their laughter fills the grand hall.

"Oh?" the Earl says, and their laughter dies down a bit, save for the two boys who are still howling with laughter in a corner, "And what if I told you that the Animus is no more?"

"Then...Then..." I struggle to search for eloquent-sounding words, "I will have to avenge them, and destroy you, Adam."

"Oh-hoho!" he laughs.

I stare at him stiffly until his laughter abruptly stops. "And how will you do that?" he asks suavely.

"I'll fight you," I answer simply, "I'll avenge all of their deaths."

"I asked you...'how will you do that'?"

"W-What?" I can't stop my voice from shaking.

"Do you wish to fight _me_ one-on-one? Child...you stand no chance against me."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I snarl, jumping to my feet.

"I mean, dear child..." he stands as well, "That you are nowhere near my level of strength. If you cannot tell that we are all illusions...then you have no right to avenge the Oscura, nor rebuild the Animus."

I cry out angrily as they begin to fade away.

"No, child...You aren't even close. Come find me again when you think you're ready~ But for now, the _Noah Famiglia _rules~"

I reach for an apple to throw at him, but even that fades away in my hand. I slam my fist into the table, but I find that that was also an illusion. Everything disappears with the spine-chilling chuckles of the Millennium Earl.

Screaming in frustration, I collapse into the chair—to find that even the chair was an illusion.

I stare up at the painting on the ceiling—the only thing left in the room. The faded colours depict grey mist clouding an indigo sky—breaking through the mist is a single black butterfly.

The beautiful painting is marred by dried blood.

* * *

><p>I wander into town. I don't remember it being this...populated. The buildings are built so closely together now.<p>

A lot has transpired in this short year.

Oh yes, a _lot_.

I make my way into a park while searching for a safe place to rest. And so, I fall asleep on a slide. Staring up at the stars until finally, I allow myself to be lulled to sleep.

Just wait, Noah Famiglia. Just wait, Adam. I will defeat you, and then you'll see why exactly _I_ am the greatest illusionist.

But first…I must master these illusions of mine. By myself.

I wake abruptly when I hit the ground. Someone pushed me, obviously. But I could care less.

It's still dark, so that means that it must still be night-time.

Thankfully, the streetlights are on—otherwise, I'd be doomed in the dark.

My eyes settle on these teenage boys. Gangs?

"You. We want your money."

Money? I blink, sitting up groggily.

I shake my head to clear it. "Yo," I greet.

"Didn't you hear me? I said we want yo—"

"Don't got none. Go away. I'm tired. Really tired. Need sleep."

"Then you'll have to join us," the leader jerks his thumb towards the shivering assembly of street children gathered in a loose line behind him.

"Wow. What a sad congregation. You folks from around here? Is this the local scenery? Gloomy much? You need to...spiff up."

"Are you mocking me?" he growls.

"No, no. Not at all. That shirt you're sporting looks very mundane. So mundane that it has its own cutesy charm," I shake my head, smiling, "...Did your matriarchal unit make it for you?"

When he stares at me, I roll my eyes. "Your _**mom**__._ Tell her that her sewing skills can definitely be improved upon. There's always room for improvement. Tell her to practise more, then your clothing might make you look skinnier," I poke him in his bulging stomach.

He lunges towards me, but of course...

A butterfly must stretch its wings.

And what he thought was me, what _you_ thought was me _disappears_. He crashes to the sandy ground.

"Hmm...Not bad. I guess my skills haven't deteriorated too much," I check my nails, perched on the boy's back.

When he realizes that he's been tricked, he attempts to throw me off and I stuff my half-eaten sandwich into his face.

_Asha Walker of the (now extinct) Animus Famiglia. _

_Twelve-year-old mind-raped illusionist who harbours a vendetta against the Noah Famiglia._

_Weapon of choice: Egg salad sandwiches._

_Oh yeah._

The other male behind him steps towards me threateningly.

My response?

A slice of bread falls to the ground as another sandwich spins through the air, yellow filling slapping the guy in the face. I cheer before I realize that I can dual wield. That's when I get dangerous.

"Oh yeah! Let's go! Come on man! I still got more!"

The guy wipes his face of the egg salad, and gives a tremendous roar. I throw a couple more at the punks, jeering at them before I realize—I'm out of ammo.

"Well, it's been fun dancing with you tonight, but really, I must go. I'm sorry our parting has to be so bittersweet, darlings~" And I turn tail and run.

And of course they give chase.

But what kind of chase scene is complete without some parkour and some sort of a getaway vehicle?

I trip over a garbage can, and with it, the rest of them along the line are tipped over. I stumble through the stinking piles and hope that they have it worse than me. I grab a trash can lid for protection and keep running through the alleyways. Sure enough, when I glance back, their ranks have thinned—but I think that's mostly because their unwilling entourage have already run off like smart kids that still have a shred of self-preservation in them.

They pelt me with stones and other such projectiles available within arm's reach. I raise the metal lid above my head and continue to run—it succeeds in fending off most of the things thrown at me. _Most._ Some banana peels and diapers find their way past my defensive position. I shake them off—there are worse things that could happen.

Note to self. Never comment on how one's mother sews. Or knits. Knitting's cool. Or maybe it was the stomach poke that pissed him off. If it were me, I wou—

"—_**eek!"**_ I shriek as I realize where I've run into, or rather...over. I look down at the steep incline fast approaching, and the road that I just leaped off of, and thinking quickly, I force my arms down, pushing the lid beneath my shins. And not a moment too soon—I make contact with the sharp bits of gravel a split-second later. The metal beneath me shakes and bucks with every bump, and is constantly tipping from side-to-side precariously. An involuntary scream is ripped from my throat all the way down to the base of the rocky hill.

As it bottoms out, the lid slides out from underneath me, skittering away into the night. I fall backwards onto the gravel. My vision goes gray for a moment, and I'm immobilized for a few seconds. That few seconds had my heart racing—and the fifth reel racing through my mind's eye...

But my vision never clears. It remains a cloudy grey blur—I can just barely make out the males in question approaching me—and mostly because I can hear their heavy footsteps. I get to my feet clumsily, wishing I wasn't so vulnerable right now.

An illusionist's greatest weapon and defence is their _eyes._ And mine have been rendered—temporarily—useless. Though, if I don't get out of this alive, they'll be _permanently _useless, I guess.

But of course, dear readers, you already _know_ that I'll make it out of here alive—or else, where's the DinoxOC interaction that you're all waiting for?

Well, there's a sock to the stomach, and a kick to the face (I'll let you assume who was on the receiving end of that one...) and then comes your long-awaited interaction:

"Hey! Hey! Leave her alone!" a voice calls.

There's the sound of running feet, but I could care less.

The kid _punched me!_

It's only right that I return fire~...Right? I'm sure you agree. And well, if you don't...I return fire anyway. Soon, it's an all out brawl—me versus these scruffy punks. A punch here, sink your teeth in here, bite down, and beat down until you're thrown off. Then you jump back into the fray and just whale on them until _someone_ goes down.

I'm lifted up by my own scruffy collar, and pushed aside, into the arms of someone. Initially, I struggle, but the arms remain loose around me, and a voice murmurs soothingly to me. I open up my eyes, and the first thing I see is the yellow light of a streetlamp. Never have I felt more relieved at seeing a lamppost.

There's a whole bunch of yelling, and '_**scram**_'s and 'I don't ever wanna' see your face around here ever again's.

I look over my shoulder to see a blond-haired boy. His golden-brown eyes are fixated on the suited men chasing off the other boys.

He blinks, looking down at me. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm great."

"That's good to hear!" he says, smiling a brilliant smile that leaves me unsure of how to respond, and I hate that feeling.

The men return to the boy's side, and he releases me, letting me stand on my own. "You should be getting home now. Be careful, alright?" he waves at me as they turn to leave.

"Hey..." I call.

The boy turns back. "Hunh?"

I step up to him and punch him in the face. He falls over, and immediately, his escorts have pushed me down and restrained me.

He props himself up, sprawled out on the ground.

"Young master! Are you alright?" The men help the blond boy up, and he puts his hand to his red cheek, stunned. He nods wordlessly, staring down at me.

"I fight my own fights!" I growl, squirming under the restraining hands. "I don't need your help! Thank you for your help...But I didn't need it!"

He looks at me incredulously, "Who thanks someone by punching them?"

I smile at him, laughing.

"Why are you laughing?" he asks softly.

I stop abruptly. _Yes...do tell. Why am I laughing?_ "I-I don't know..."

A tall man—one of them bodyguard types glowers at me menacingly.

"It's alright, Alfonso," the blond boy says. He steps up to me. "Who are you?"

"Me?" I point at myself, surprised at his question. "My name is Asha Walker. I'm insane."

He laughs. "That you are. I'm Dino. It's nice to meet you, Miss Walker."

"'Miss'?" I repeat.

"Yeah!" he answers, smiling and holding out his hand.

I stare at it, blinking. "Am I...supposed to spit in it like they do in books?"

"No, no!" he says hurriedly. "You shake it, like this." He takes my hand in his and gives it a firm shake.

I let my hand fall back to my side. "Yeah. What was that all about? Did I just sign an unspoken contract or something?"

"Hunh?"

I gasp, horrified, _**"Did I just sell my soul?"**_

"Umm...Miss Walker? It was just a handshake."

I whirl back to face him, pointing a finger straight at his nose accusingly. "You! You duped me! Don't _tell _me that it was just a handshake! And don't call me 'Miss Walker' either!"

"Oh...Alright then, _Asha_... A handshake means friendship."

"...Come again?" I freeze, cutting my rant short.

"You did agree to something with that handshake—our friendship!"

I deadpan, "I have never heard anything cheesier than that in my entire life."

His face falls, and I scramble quickly for words, because that crestfallen look makes me feel exceedingly guilty. "Umm, hey. Everyone knows that pinkie promises mean friendship, right?"

"Really?"

"Really!"

"Really?"

"Really!"

"Really, really?"

"Really~"

"Okay!"

I hold out my hand, and our pinkies wrap around each other.

"I swear on my pinkie that I will be your friend forever!" Dino laughs.

"Yeah!" I say.

"Wait! You didn't promise anything!"

I cringe inwardly. He's sharper than I expected, even after agreeing to something as childish as a pinkie promise—which is clearly different than a handshake—though I'm not entirely sure what a handshake constitutes of.

"I promise that... Can I decide later?"

He blinks, not knowing how to answer. But he nods after a moment. "Okay."

"Young master. We really should be going now."

"Alright, let's go then. I'll see you later then, Asha!"

I nod and return his wave. They turn to leave, and I follow them.

It isn't until they get to the car that Alfonso stops me. "I'm sorry _Miss_, but I'm afraid that I'll have to ask you to go home. Stop following us."

"But...But don't best friends have sleepovers?"

Dino sticks his head out of the limo's window, calling, "Alfonso, we can give her a ride to her home at least, right?"

Alfonso looks as if he's about to argue, but eventually gives in. Wow, they really can't deny this kid, can they? But then again, he does seem very important. Maybe he's the son of a big shot company CEO or something.

So I file into the back of the limo with the rest of the men. Alfonso pointedly takes a seat beside Dino, making sure to move his young charge to the opposite end of the limo from me. Dino smiles at me nonetheless, but I can't help but feel just a little disconcerted.

"Where to?"

"Hunh?" It's the second time I've been asked that today, and this time, I can't seem to find an answer.

Alfonso shifts uneasily, and I know that I have to give an answer—any answer—quickly before I find myself on the streets again. The car engine purrs as it starts down the road.

"Well..." I begin, and Alfonso's gaze hardens. "The thing is," I say hurriedly, "you can choose to believe me or not it doesn't really matter at this point I'm screwed anyway SO the thing is I'm the last remaining survivor of the Animus Famiglia and we split up into two halves—the Oscura and the Noah—and the Noah totally killed everyone else off and while that was happening I went to the Estraneo to try and get some like POWER BOOST or something and they just ended up mind-raping me and yeah I think I might be going insane because they screwed my eyes up and I'm going to have to rebuild the Animus but that's not gonna' work since they're all dead and only the Noah Family and me are left and—" I suck in a huge breath and finish off: "So yeah. Here I am."

They all stare at me. Dino's eyes are wide, and none of them seem to know how to respond.

There's silence except for the air rushing past the car outside.

_**"Stop the car,"**_ Alfonso orders.

The tires squeal as the car pulls over at the side of the road.

"Alfonso, what's the matter?" Dino asks.

Alfonso pushes Dino even farther away from me, and the rest of the men catch on and react as well. I stare, unsure of what's going on. The window rolls down, then, I am defenestrated.

Sure. That totally clears everything up.

I hit the road—literally—bouncing twice before skidding along the pavement and rolling into the ditch along the side of the road.

There's a commotion and the skidding of tires, then the door flies opens and Dino trips out of the car, falling face-first into the reeds.

He pushes himself to his feet, then stumbles over to me. "Hey! Asha! Are you alright?"

"Umm...Yeah," I answer, getting up and brushing myself off.

"Young master! Get back in the car!"

"Do you not know what she is?"

"Please! Come back!"

"Did you not hear what she said?"

"Actually...Aheh...I didn't understand any of that..." the blond laughs a little embarrassedly, scratching his cheek with his index finger.

I look at him, shrugging. "I don't get it either. I'm the last of my Famiglia of illusionists because I was being held by the Estraneo Famiglia. And for some reason, your men don't like that fact."

His eyes are focused on me now. "Famiglia? You're..." his eyes dart around before he whispers, "_Mafia?"_

"Why are we whispering?"

"I don't know..." he murmurs.

"But yeah," I speak normally again. "I'm mafia, I guess."

"How can you say that so easily?"

I shrug. "I am what I am. Why? Should I not be proud of my heritage?"

"But you're..._mafia._ How can you be proud of that?"

I shrug in reply again. "I'm young. I'm naive. I don't need to worry about trivial things such as what the word _mafia_ really constitutes. I just know that it sounds epic and if I'm part of it, that's good enough for me."

He continues to stare at me.

"Alright, alright," I sigh. "I've got nothing else but that, right? And I'm assuming that all this '_hush-hush'_," I place air quotations around my head, "Is because you're part of the mafia as well...or something like that, right?"

"_**Shh!**_" He places his hand over my mouth, glancing around warily. "Not so loudly! But...yeah."

_**"Hypocrite much? You're the heir to a big-time ma—"**_

"Gah—!" He pounces on me, and we both fall to the ground, tumbling down the muddy hill.

"Ow! Watch it you klutz!"

"I'm _sorryyyyyyyy...!"_

* * *

><p>After I give Dino another, more in-depth summary of my journey, he begs with his guards to at least let me have an audience with his father—some Don Cavallone.<p>

Alfonso gives in after much begging, compromising and persuasion on my behalf. I just stand, unsure of how to act to appease the man. So...the best course of action in this case, is no action...at least on my part.

I find myself wedged into the limo between two beefy thuggies, with Dino as far away from me as possible, Alfonso leering at me from his side. I pull out the deck of cards, shuffling through them to keep my hands busy, and to keep my mind off of the days' happenings, not to mention to distract me from the eyes boring into my skull.

"What are you doing?" Dino asks, peering around Alfonso's leering form.

"I'm shuffling the cards," I answer simply.

"Card games?" he prompts.

"My version of tarot cards..." I smile...a _bit _deviously_._ It's too fun messing with this boy—he's so gullible.

"Really?" His eyes widen to the size of saucers.

"Yup."

"That's cool..." He regards me with a careful eye. "...Does that mean...You can read people's futures and stuff?"

"Something like that..." I answer vaguely.

"Can you...I—"

"If you want me to do a tarot reading on you, then you have to come over here," I reply, hands not ceasing to fiddle with the sharp edges of the cards.

"Okay!" he answers brightly, and begins unbuckling his seatbelt.

"Absolutely not!" Alfonso says.

I glance over at him, pausing my shuffling for a moment. "The cards must be pulled by the person for themselves. That's Fate's decree. Will you challenge Fate, Alfonso?"

Alfonso glares at me. "If it is Fate, then it is already decided for me. I shall abide by my orders as Fate would have it."

"Good answer," I smile. "Right, Dino?" I drop the illusion, looking at the boy, now seated beside me, as he glances up at his caretaker somewhat guiltily.

"Young master!" they all cry.

Alfonso fixes his glare on me again, "What trickery is this? What are you?"

"Alfonso, my man. Are you superstitious? Religious?" I drawl, cutting the deck. I make note of the slight twitch of his hand towards his collar—no doubt reaching to touch a cross on the chain that dips just behind the dress shirt. I raise an eyebrow. "I see..."

I fan the cards out in a smooth formation, holding them out, face-down, to Dino. "Pick one," I tell him, then turn back to Alfonso, "I don't mean any harm. To be honest, I don't wish to hurt anyone. I've had enough of violence—enough to last me for a couple of lifetimes; so I'd rather sit still, y'know, kick back for a bit."

When his face turns purple-red, I add, "Thank you for your hospitality!"

I feel a shift in the cards, and I turn back to the blond-haired boy. I sense the bodyguards around me tense up, but relax when Dino smiles.

"What card is it?" I ask.

He turns it over, handing it back to me.

It's the King of Clubs.

"What does it mean?" he inquires curiously.

"The King of Clubs represents a very good, life-long friend. They're someone who can be counted on and trusted."

He smiles, and I shuffle and fan out the cards again, holding it out to the King of Clubs, "Pick another one. This card will show the future. And so, you won't be allowed to see it. Are you alright with that? Do you still want to draw the next card?"

He bites his lip, contemplating for a moment. Then, temptation gets the better of him, and he reaches out for the card. He squeezes his eyes shut, and thrusts the card into my hands. I relieve him of it quickly before he literally explodes. His eyes snap open, and he stares at me with big, apprehensive eyes, searching for any clue as to what the card is.

My eyes skitter over it.

The King of Hearts—represents an influential man who has the ability to do good.

_What could this mean...for me...and for him?_

Does it mean that Old Man Cavallone can help me in some way? Or does it mean...how does the King of Clubs here tie into all of this?

"How is it? Is it good, bad? Am I going to die?"

"It shouldn't be bad," I say neutrally.

He sighs, "That's good enough for me."

I grin at his relief, and happy that he doesn't press me for details, or accuse me of making up fake rules for my fake tarot readings.

"Hey, why don't _you_ draw a card, Asha?"

"Hunh?"

He takes the deck from my hands, shuffling them clumsily. Many fall to the ground, and in his haste, he ends up falling out of his seat twice—even with the seatbelt on—and once, he even tangles himself up in it. But as soon as he removes the seatbelt to fix it, the guards react, all unbuckling their seatbelts, and Alfonso even orders the limo to pull over.

The King of Clubs is actually the King of Klutzes in disguise.

When Dino picks the cards up, and the limo is on the move again, he holds the scruffy cards up to me, fanning them out in choppy chunks. I thin them out with my fingers into a smoother fan, then pluck one out of the pile.

It's the Jack of Spades.

"What did you get?" Dino questions.

I shake my head, taking the rest of the deck back from him. I shuffle the cards thoroughly, making sure he won't be able to find the exact card again.

_The Jack of Spades represents someone who takes and takes—and never gives back. A person who is a burden on everyone else._

* * *

><p>I sit in the dim room, gripping the edge of my tattered shirt tightly. The luxurious room is lit by a single floor lamp, and it really does wonders for my eyes—I can only see things within that square patch, everything else is fuzzy. Paranoia makes me fidget in my seat.<p>

Old Man Cavallone paces in front of me, like they do in movies, hands clasped behind his back, head raised up at the ceiling, one foot in front of the other. I follow the sound of his footsteps as he wanders around the room. His features only become visible when he passes directly in front of me, past the gentle yellow glow of the lamp. He balls his hand up into a fist at more than one point, coughing harshly into it.

His face scrunches up into a frown of concentration as I recount my story once again. I make a mental note of every point in my tale in which he frowns. I'll store it in my head, and then analyze them later.

I tell him everything that happened to me—everything that doesn't give away our Family's secrets, that is—then, I wait for his reply.

"Child..." he says, "why did you come to us?"

"To be honest? I don't know. I guess...I seek asylum?"

"The Animus...They tried to bail us out about a year ago. As of such, we owe them a favour," Don Cavallone says.

'Bail'? As in _jail?_ Or as in business? I just shake my head internally and wait for him to continue.

"We will permit you to stay on the Cavallone estate while we search for any remaining survivors of the massacre."

I dip my head in acknowledgement, standing. "Thanks, Old Man Cavallone."

_King of Hearts he __**is**__..._

"Please wait outside; a maid will be along shortly to show you to your room," he says regally.

Alfonso looks at me distrustfully as I exit the room, sweeping past me swiftly. As the door closes I hear him ask, "Are you sure that's wise, Don Cavallone?"

I don't know. _Am_ I too big of a risk, Old Man Cavallone?

What would you be willing to risk, to give up, in order to repay a favour to my Famiglia that even _I_ had no idea about? Think carefully, Old Man Cavallone. It could cost you your life—and the lives of many, many others. Think carefully for your sake, and for the sake of my feeble conscience.

_What would the King of Hearts be willing to risk for the Jack of Spades?_

The door clicks shut behind me.

_And how does the King of Clubs tie into this?_

Dino finds me wandering through the mansion (of course I don't wait for the maid to show up...what am I? A princess?).

The Cavallone heir walks with me as I tell him what his father told me. We take a seat at a table in the kitchen—or what appears to be one. I take in the sights carefully—there may come a time in which I need to find a quick and good hiding spot in the mansion—I can just feel it.

"Come on, Asha. It can't be _that_ bad. We'll find your parents, don't worry about it!"

_So says the King of Clubs..._

However cynical I am, I somehow find it in me to at least respond with a half-hearted smile.

But he can tell. In an attempt to distract me, he says, "Hey, let me pick a card then."

Amused, I comply, "Alright, then." I grin, pulling the deck out of my pocket. Already, there are scuff marks on the case, and the King of Hearts is bent. But I could care less. Dino's excitement has rubbed off on me, and I shuffle the cards quickly, before fanning them out on the table in front of us.

Dino pushes his chair back, standing. "Okay! I'm gonna' close my eyes and_** whoa—!"**_

His foot slips on...I don't even know _what_ he could possibly have tripped over...But, in any case, he sprawls over on the table, mixing the cards up even more.

Laughing, I help him up. "Be careful, you King of Klutzes."

He scratches his head sheepishly. "Anyway...let's close our eyes and pick a card."

"Why?"

He smiles uncomfortably. "I thought...y'know...like Fate might lead us to pick the 'right' card...so to speak..."

I laugh again, and he reddens. "Sure, sure. Let's go." I close my eyes, hand hovering over the table. "Alright. On the count of three. One. Two. Three!"

My hand feels around for a card, and as soon as I ascertain one, I'm surprised to find resistance. I open my eyes again to find that I'm holding onto three cards—Dino's hand is grasping the other ends of the same cards.

"Uh..." we look at each other.

"...Fate?" Dino supplies, shrugging. I let the cards slip through my fingers as he takes them.

"The Three of Hearts," he reads, then places the card down on the table. I cringe. _The Three of Hearts: An unwise decision, made in haste and without proper background information._

"What's wrong?" he asks, pausing before he puts the next card down.

"It's nothing," I shake my head quickly.

He frowns. "It's a bad card, isn't it?"

"Not necessarily..." I say slowly, "It's what we make of it that determines if it's good or bad."

Dino nods in agreement, not pressing me on the details of the meaning behind that particular card. He puts the next card down slowly, "The Ten of Clubs."

I smile.

"See? I told you...it's not that bad! ...Is it?" he adds.

"The Ten of Clubs is a card of happiness and good fortune. It represents a long and fun-filled journey," I explain.

He puts the last card down, and my eyes widen.

"And the Five of Clubs."

_The Five of Clubs: A marriage card—or the beginning of a long-standing alliance._

"Is that so..."

"What? What? Tell me! What does the Five of Clubs mean?"

"It means that I'm tired, Dino, and hungry. Do you, by any chance, have some egg salad sandwiches on you?"


	4. RedEyed Devil Spawn

_Author-san_ thinks that it might be interesting to write from third person.

She's clearly taken too many soccer balls to the head, fallen down too many flights of stairs, been attacked by too many mutant ninja turtles.

_["Hey!"]_

No offense, Dino.

I mean, who would want to hear omniscient _Author-san_ preaching _my_ story? Please dissuade her of this madness.

Ah. I also feel that I should warn you. I will be showing you only select chapters from my life—it's on a need-to-know basis. And you, dear readers, _really_ don't need to know some things. Sometimes, it's better to not ask..._so don't worry about it._

* * *

><p>I lie awake in the bedroom, surrounded by an assortment of fluffy pillows on the four poster canopy bed. The sunlight streams in from the open window, and I sigh a little. What did I do to deserve this luxury? Creamy cashmere and silken sheets slide over my legs, and I sigh again in contentment. I roll over gently, balling up the blankets into a compact bundle, and tucking it beneath my chin, holding it close to my body.<p>

Basking in the sunlight for quite a while, I let the memories run through my mind. As you can expect, it takes quite a bit of time for my brain to process the memories of all the lifetimes. But I end up with the correct conclusion: I have never shaken someone's hand until last night. My reaction was to be expected. It's a bit sad really, having lived eight-and-a-half lifetimes and never having the chance to shake someone's hand.

Sitting up, I sigh. Stretching a little, I decide that I must read more about this world's customs. For all my experience, I'm really inexperienced. Now, if you wanted to know how to start a rebellion, assassinate someone, or torture someone, then, even with my lack of tact, I'm your person.

A tad bit surprised, I find that someone has already been in here to leave a tray of food, and clean clothes have been draped across the back of a chair. I whistle softly, clapping my hands delightedly. "_Good __**morning**_, Asha!" It's been a while since I've been treated so well by my hosts.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed to inspect the food. I wolf the unfortunate croissant down as soon as it falls into my line of sight. I drink the cup of milk down quickly before turning my attention onto the toast. It's ravaged by me, and whatever jams and jellies I didn't use with the toast, I finish up straight out of the jar with the serving spoon. I haven't had food this good in so long!

I let out a contended burp before piling all the silverware onto the platter. I wipe my mouth with my sleeve before realizing that this nightgown isn't even mine...It's one of the maid's daughter's. My hands freeze in place a bit guiltily—I was about to wipe them on the front of the gown. I should change into the outdoor clothes now—it's time to go wreak some havoc.

There's a bright red dress, and I almost cringe as I look into the mirror. It makes my vivid red eyes stand out even more. I've always wished for bright blue eyes—they make people seem more innocent. Yet, I was born with bright vermillion eyes that practically scream _it's the Devil! Run!_

Psh. At least with blue eyes, I'd have more of a chance of getting close to them.

No wonder people are wary of me when they first see me—the creepy child with the creepy red eyes and the creepy smile and creepy giggle. I think Dino and his father were the only people that responded without (much) fear of me...

I sigh, opening the doors.

"Good morning, Asha."

"Um, morning!" I say cheerily, switching tracks quickly.

"My name is Romario," a black haired man with a moustache says from his rigid position outside my door. He appears to have been waiting for me. Beside him stands a scowling, sandy-haired Alfonso. He looks away pointedly as we make eye contact.

Internally, I snicker, rubbing my hands together. Whatever this is...it'll be fun on my end.

The moustache man—Romario—sighs, "You two, please cooperate. Asha, your intentions are written all over your face—"

"—Eh?" I look at him blankly.

"—As are yours, Alfonso—"

"—What?" He looks up with a serious expression.

"—You two, have been paired up. Boss wants you, Alfonso, to look after Asha."

"What?"

_"__Kshesese~_"

Needless to say, it was met with much opposition on Alfonso's end, and a lot of fake-opposition on mine.

But Romario wouldn't budge. I also find out moments later that Romario's the Old Man's right hand—that means that his words are final—there would be no further arguments. I grin to myself. I think I put up enough of a fake fight against the news that Romario won't suspect me of foul play against Alfonso. And really, it won't be foul play. I'm just messing with him—it's all for entertainment value and educational purposes. I can argue it both ways.

"Asha..." he shoots me a warning look which I return with a smile. He sighs again, and ruffles my hair in a familial way. I shake my hair out after he leaves, frowning slightly at the gesture.

Although Romario pretty-fied it with his words, I know that Alfonso's basically been assigned to watch me for any suspicious actions. But, I believe that that is actually rather…soft. Is one man _really_ enough to stop _me_ from doing whatever I want? I'm not just a twelve-year-old brat. I'm a twelve-year-old mind-raped brat of an illusionist who holds grudges and may or may not be completely sane. I'm armed to the teeth. No really, you can't even begin to imagine what I can do with a deck of cards. I'm a loose cannon. And because I feel like it, I'll play along for now. But…if I'm ever in the mood…

Ha.

We shall see when that time comes.

"No hard feelings, right?" I ask him in a playful tone. Though, inside, I'm still skeptical.

Alfonso looks down his nose at me—the offending object. I have been allocated as his charge. He was to _protect_ me, and _watch over_ me. Both of us know exactly what Old Man Cavallone was implying—I'm a possible threat that needs to be watched 24/7.

I'm not stupid. He knows that too. He doesn't seem too happy with his new task, and he makes sure that that fact is known.

I make it a point to show him that he can't keep me tied down and that it's futile to try and keep tabs on me—it's an elaborate game of hide-and-seek that he can't win. He's always a few paces too slow, and I'm always just ahead of him—sometimes I double back just to screw with his mind, and then that illusion disappears. The illusions I make of myself are getting a lot better—I can make multiple ones of myself now. It just becomes a little confusing, even for me, after a certain amount of them. I've worked the limit up to two illusions of myself, while being able to maintain other illusions. It's still tough to maintain the higher quality ones, and though no one has been able to see through them yet, I know that these, no matter how hard I try, are _nothing_ in comparison to the Noah's strength.

I have to keep working, keep training, if I'm to have any chance against them.

* * *

><p>I stand on the balcony, peering down at the grounds below. The Cavallone estate is wide, and seemingly endless. It's like it stretches on forever, past the horizon line and—<p>

_[Cough]_

I lean over the side of the balustrade to pinpoint the sound. A wisp of cigarette smoke wafts up to me. There are people directly beneath me, and so, I can't see them. Thus, I close my eyes, leaning back, focusing my ears on them—I'll commit their voices to memory and try and pick them out later.

"What do you think of her?"

"Who?"

"That little girl?"

"Oh, the stray that the Young Master found yesterday?"

"Yeah."

"I can't see why Boss would agree to take her in and search for her family."

"I heard that she's the one responsible for the massacre of the Animus."

Really? That's news to me. Where are they getting their information from? Because they're sadly mistaken.

"Boss won't tell us anything about her, but we're expected to watch over her?"

"That's a one-sided request."

"Plus, we don't even know if we can trust her."

"If her Famiglia is wiped out, who is she _really_ affiliated with anyway?"

"Maybe it'd be better if she..._left_."

I tilt my head at the implications. Insert 'O rly?' face here. But...it sounds interesting. What are your thoughts on this, Generic Random Guy Number 2?

"And how would we do that?"

Psh. So unoriginal. I'm waiting for some creativity, some innovation. Yes, I am eavesdropping on two people plotting my death. But hey, at least I'm offered a choice now—I'm privy to their suggestions; I am part of the decision making process of my own death... Not that I'll allow that. It's just interesting listening in to something like this. I twirl a strand of hair around my finger, and flick a pebble off of the white railing. I watch as it turns and tumbles through the air before it strikes the ground.

"Hey! What are you doing?" they cry as they leap to their feet, outraged, and I lean back and enjoy my handiwork.

"Identify yourself!"

"Why are you on the Cavallone estate?"

"Calling for backup! We have a security breach!" Generic Random Guy Number 1 yells into his earpiece, "Intruders on the East wing patio!"

"There's about a dozen or so, and they've got a jeep."

"There's more! They've got guns too—_**Get down!**_"

Cavallone men come flooding out of the glass doors beneath me, and the run for cover as the intruders open fire on them. I close my eyes, taking pleasure in the sound of glass shattering and people screaming, because I know nothing is real except for their terror and the adrenaline pumping through their veins. There is life in their movements..._but._..It's all in their heads.

I sit up abruptly, giggling as I see another vehicle thunders over the crest of the hill, racing to intercept the jeep. I watch, morbidly intrigued as the Cavallone guards tackle my illusory men. Wait. That's weird. They're actually tackling them down and restraining them. I'm watching them as they do it—throwing them down onto the dewy grass and jumping on them. How is that possible?

Generic Random Guy Number One's cigarette is tossed to the ground, and crushed underfoot. There's scuffling and struggling, and a whole lot of yelling.

I sit up to examine the happenings more closely. It's as if...my illusions are actually physically manifesting. Either that...or I've succumbed to my own illusion. But that can't be! No...These illusions have a body, a corporeal form. How can that be?

"_A-__**hem**__..."_

I turn to see Alfonso standing in the doorway, arms crossed with a scowl on his face.

"Umm…I'm sure there's a very good explanation for this. But…_**let me have a moment to think of it!"**_

That's when the illusion breaks and the Cavallone men on the ground look up at the pristine patio—clear of any shards of glass, with freshly served food still steaming on untouched fine china plates, everything set for their young master's lunch. There was no jeep, and one guard looks down to see that they had actually tied two saplings together, rather than two vicious assailants. The driver of the Cavallone vehicle sits, blinking incredulously behind the wheel, his shades hanging off one of his ears, not sure what to think.

The illusory me on the balcony explodes into a cloud of smoke, and Alfonso coughs, waving his arms, before following the sound of running footsteps down the hall.

* * *

><p>He manages to catch up to the illusion of me, so I decide to take a break—to give <em>him<em> a break. I release the illusion and I feel its weight lessen and ebb away. I smile, peering over the top of the hill. I wave at Alfonso. He storms over, and I brace myself, leaning back against the side of the grassy hill, totally at ease.

"You think that's funny, brat?" he snarls.

I smile. He's going to start scolding me, but really, what difference does it make? His words mean little to me—they only serve as amusement, or else, this life would be pretty boring, right?

"You've wasted our time and our resources. You _deliberately _incited panic. And what if those men were needed elsewhere? What if someone had actually invaded or infiltrated the estate from somewhere else when you did that?"

"But no one did..."

"I'm saying _if!_" he rages.

"But—"

He whirls on me. "_This _is why they suspect you; why they didn't—they _don't—_want anything to do with you!"

"Finally speaking your mind, right, Alfonso?" I smile pleasantly at him with venom-laced words. "You and I both know that that's what, in fact, _you, _and you alone, think."

But that's a lie...There was Generic Random Guy number 1 and 2... And there are probably more people who would agree with them as well.

Alfonso sits down angrily.

"Why don't you like me, Alfonso?" I prompt.

He gives me a surprisingly honest answer: "People like you destroyed my family."

"People...like _me?_ You mean illusionists?" I ask to clarify.

He nods. "It's nothing personal..." He gives me a bitter smile. "But I can't seem to find it in myself to forgive them."

"But not all illusionists are like that. I'm still young! I can change! Am I like any of them?"

He hesitantly shakes his head. But even I can tell that it's a tired one and that he just wants to agree with me so I'll be appeased and leave him alone. Like Hell I will.

"Hey…Alfonso…How old are you anyway?"

"Does it matter?" he mutters.

"Yeah. You seem really old, yet really young at the same time."

He rolls his eyes at me. "And why do you think _that_ is?"

I shrug in response then add, "Maybe you need to get out more, Alfonso. Y'know, meet a pretty lady, get married, have kids."

Absentmindedly, I run my finger over the edges of the deck so that it makes a quick ratcheting sound and produces a light puff of air. I rearrange the cards as I see fit, then shuffle and play around with the ordering, "I mean…you never know how much time you have left before you die…right?"

He sits up, raising an eyebrow at me.

I laugh lightly, then hold the deck up. "Would you like to see your future?"

His brow furrows, and before he can refuse, I pull the card from the deck, twirling it around in my hand, then hold it out in front of his face. "The Ace of Spades. Do you know what it represents?"

He leaps to his feet.

"It means…_death,_" I say dramatically.

His eyes widen, and his hand clutches the cross around his neck.

I laugh at his fearful gaze. "But, of course, I stacked the deck. Did you really think that that was _Fate_? Of course not, it was rigged. I cheated. Calm yourself, Alfonso. It wasn't ever anything bad. I was just joking."

He glares down at me, but sits back down nonetheless. He looks away, muttering darkly under his breath.

"Here," I say, offering him the deck again after looking through them to make sure.

"No," he refuses.

"But—"

"_No_."

"Why not?"

"You stacked it again—don't think for a moment that I didn't see that, brat!" He turns away quickly.

But I caught it.

_Don't think for a moment I didn't see that smile, Alfonso._

Content at my progress, I smile. "You were supposed to pull..." I pause, selecting a card, "this one." I make a show of dramatically pulling a card from the deck—in truth, it's a random card, but as soon as it comes into view, I coat it with an illusion. "The Five of Diamonds."

He glances up at the card. "And what's _that_ one supposed to mean, pray tell?"

"Prosperity," I answer, smiling. "And the beginning of a bright and wonderful friendship~ ...right?"

His eyes narrow and he scowls, turning away. "Friends with Devil Spawn like you? _Never._"

But I catch the unconscious playful edge in his voice.

_You're a really bad faker, Alfonso._

It makes me wonder what he's really thinking behind that scowl. I catch myself before I attempt it. No. I can't breach that tentative trust.

_Not yet, at least..._

I expel the thoughts, smiling brightly. "Hey Alfonso. Take me to the library."

He seems surprised. "The library?" he echoes, trailing along behind me. "Why would you want to go to the library?"

"I want to read..._duh._"

"Master Dino is having his lessons there right now."

"Lessons? It's a weekend. Is he home-schooled?"

"No...They're supplementary classes."

"Supplementary?" I repeat. I tilt my head and deliberate for but a moment, then add, "Judging from your tone, it's not advanced classes...it's to make up for his poor performance in class. Correct me if I'm wrong."

He doesn't answer me.

"Aha! So I was right... "

"No matter, we're not to bother him."

"But—"

"No."

And for once, I comply. It's probably because Alfonso's sob story past has got me thinking. Do I pity him? I hope not. Pity...what a useless emotion.

* * *

><p>"This doesn't change anything! I'm just trying to follow Mr. Romario's orders."<p>

"Yup, yup!"

_Just wait, I'll wear down your defences, and you'll never know when you started letting me in._

* * *

><p>The next week passes much the same way. I hardly ever get to see Dino—the blond boy provides me with the most amusement, even more so than hide-and-seek with Alfonso. His company brings me genuine pleasure, and the bright aura that surrounds him makes me relaxed...and somewhat <em>happy<em> (?) when I'm around him. But, he has school, and I have to settle with annoying Alfonso. But that, no matter how amusing it is, becomes boring quickly. I lose interest in it after the first few days.

I pull on the orange dress—it matches my hair, and I'm glad for the change. The maids seem to like me—something about brightening things up for them. But they seem to like to dress me up in red—they're fascinated with my red eyes instead of fearing them. I wonder about their sanity. Do humans lack a sense of self-preservation or something?

After screwing with a guard on duty, and causing a mess in the kitchen (I seriously wonder how any of the household servants could even like me...), creating an illusion of a crater on the grounds and laughing at the men who went out to inspect it when illusory slime erupted from it, I officially declared myself "_bored out of my mind!"_

"Good. Now sit down and _stay_ there so I can clean up your messes."

"Alfonso...? Can I go to the library?"

"You wanna' repeat that?" he says in a tone that clearly means: _Shut your gob._

Desperately bored, I repeat my request, "_Please, Alfonso? __Please?_ I promise that I'll be quiet! I swear _**on my life**_ that I'll be quiet."

His eyes narrow at the easy swear. He doesn't take these things lightly. I don't either; otherwise, I would've sworn on something else.

I can tell that he just needs another push, "I just want to get some books to read. I'm a pretty slow reader, too, so it'll keep me out of your hair for a while..." What I don't mention is the fact that I hardly ever finish the books I read because I can't stay still or pay attention to them long enough. I always lose interest half-way through.

"Fine," he says with a loud sigh. "But only if you promise to be quiet."

"_Okay!_"

He sighs again.

* * *

><p>"I don't get this!" The blond boy squirms in his seat as soon as the tutor leaves the room, and he runs his hands through his hair frustratedly.<p>

Seeing no need for illusions of myself, I see the image of the pinched-faced tutor, clear as day in my mind.

"Maybe if I snuck out right now, they wouldn't find me..." he ponders aloud to himself.

"Oi. Devil Spawn. Don't even _think _about it," Alfonso warns.

I turn back, sighing with a little shrug. "Haa...Such a pity..." then I grin, _"Already done."_

Alfonso brushes past me, peering out from between the shelves, brow creased.

Dino glances around suspiciously, then quietly pushes his chair back, tip-toeing towards the door.

"Where do you think you're going, Master Dino? Your math questions aren't finished yet."

_**"Eep!"**_ He freezes, turning back to face the illusion of his tutor. He spins back around, making a run for the door.

I smile in satisfaction—_I'd timed this one __**perfectly**_—as the door opens ominously. Dino skids to a stop as he comes face-to-face to the real tutor. Boy, does she look angry. "Are your math questions completely answered? Have you showed all your work and circled your final answers, all with proper format? Do you wish to move on with trigonometry now?"

Dino pales, and peers back over his shoulder—but I've already cancelled the illusion, ducking down behind the dark shelves of the library, stifling my laughter. Alfonso stands beside me, watching on. He shakes his head, but there's a slight upturn of his lips.

"_**Well? Do you?"**_ The lady looms over him ominously, and I have to wonder if he's tried to do this before. The blond utters a quick apology and all but jumps back into his seat. He picks up his pencil again, and begins filling the answers in—for better or for worse.

Alfonso and I slink out the back door, not wishing to incite the wrath of the woman. We breathe a heavy sigh as soon as we're out.

"Not the method that I would've used...but definitely effective, kiddo."

I laugh lightly. I'm making progress at whittling away his reservation. My musings are interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone.

"Alfonso?"

He turns away to answer the call, nodding at the phone. I've never understood that concept. Why do people motion at, or make faces at the person on the other end? They can't see you...

"Oi! Alfonso! Don't ignore me!" In a bid for his attention, I create an illusion of Old Man Cavallone, who comes running up to us.

Alfonso doesn't even bat an eye. "Alright, we'll be there in a minute," he says into the phone, then he flips it shut with a sharp click.

He gives an unimpressed glance at the illusion, then promptly ignores it, looking down at me.

Confused, I lose focus, and the illusion explodes into glittering dust.

Then Alfonso throws a sarcastic, half-hearted grin at me that makes him look a lot younger—more his age. "Nice try, kid. But you're gonna' have to do better than that. First of all, Don Cavallone is often sick—he doesn't walk very quickly, much less charge at people like that. Second of all, I was speaking to him on the phone just now."

I bite my lip, storing that information away for later. Old Man Cavallone's sick? I make a note to observe how different people walk and act, in order create more believable illusions.

"C'mon. He's asked to see you."

"Hunh?" I trot along after him. "Why?"

His expression darkens. "Your parents have been found."

"Really?" I gasp, eyes widening.

His lips are pressed into a firm line, and he doesn't meet my gaze. He gives me but a single nod, and no further words are exchanged.

Sensing the change in his demeanour, I keep chattering away, trying desperately to fill the silence—for silence could mean anything. And I hate not knowing what lies ahead. So I'll fill it up with pretty colours and pretty words and pretty lies.

Because, in truth, I already know. And I bet you do, too. You felt that too, didn't you?

But please, indulge me—believe in the lie for just a while longer.


	5. A Kiss to Make it Better II

"Whew! It's Author-san here…It's been a while since I saw the light of day. That back room is a bit stuffy. Asha let me out. Strange, isn't it? She's not usually this agreeable. She must be sulking."

_I'm not sulking!_

"Now, now, Asha. No need to get testy with me."

Che.

"It must be because Fanfiction is being weird—and ButterflyHeart had to be deleted for a bit. (I apologize!) Or it could be because 'Starfire' is getting more views than her own story…"

_That Daemon Spawn's got __nothing__ on me!_

"Is that so? Or is it your show of weakness in this chapter, then?"

_No. Way. In. __Hell__._

"Watch your mouth, Asha. Or I'll send you back to the Estraneo for _them_ to wash your mouth out."

_Go for it. I'm not scared of you or the Estraneo. Bring it on! I'll—_

"Please excuse me while I discipline my brain child. Well, go on and enjoy this bit of fluffy angst/angsty fluff~" ^_^"

* * *

><p>"<em>We've located your parents."<em>

"Really? Where are they?"

"_They're currently in Rome."_

"Rome? Hmm...That's a little farther away than I'd originally thought... Alright! Thank you for all your help, Old Man Cavallone! Well then, I'll be off now."

"_I'm afraid that access to them is strictly monitored—you wouldn't even be able to get __near__ them."_

"Why's that?"

"_They're in a mental institution."_

"...W-What...?"

"_They're in a mental institution __**run by the Noah Family.**__"_

* * *

><p>It's times like these when I'm reminded that in all actuality, I am a mind-raped preteen brat with a personal agenda and a one-track mind that's hell-bent on revenge. It's times like these in which I realize that, no matter what I've gone through, it comes down to just that—<em>I'm a preteen brat.<em> I'm just a kid. I_…want my mom. I want my dad._ My brain and body seem to freeze. My body doesn't seem to want to move, while my brain seems stuck between the moments of happiness in which I was told that my parents had been found—and that of despair at the next piece of information.

"I'll leave you to gather your thoughts. Come, Alfonso,"

I'm too lost in myself to memorize Don Cavallone's odd hobble, or register Alfonso's unfathomable glance at me.

The pang echoes in my chest much like the dull echo that resonates from the closing of the door. Never have I felt so alone, even when I _had_ thought of them all as dead. _I want mama and papa._

My legs give out, and I clutch at my arms, almost afraid to move, to utter a sound. _I want mama and papa. I want everything like it was before._

A surge of hate wells up in my chest. _**Adam**__!_

The anger is matched by hot tears. They run fast down my cheeks.

_My parents...They're worse than dead. It'd be better if they were._

There was still enough of my father left that he was able to give custody of me to the Cavallone. But no doubt once I can force myself to breathe, I'll be off again. Now I definitely can't stay here. I need to—I need to get to Rome. I need to find my parents—and then—and then find Adam—and then I need to –need to get away. I need to get my parents to a safe place—safe? But where? _**Nowhere is safe! **_I need to find them—need to get them out—how? Why? Why can't I—? Why can't I _breathe?_

I stumble to my feet, hand feelings against the wall in an attempt to guide me through the dim-lit room. I crash down behind the cashmere couches.

The doorknob clicks. "Father! I'm done my—" I hear the familiar chipper voice cut off as he notices that something's off—he's heard my panicked wheezing. Dino pads around the room, and foot catching on the corner of the carpet, he flips over, crashing down in a heap beside me.

"A-Asha?" he murmurs, surprised. Yeah, I must look like a mess.

My hands ball up in the skirts of my yellow dress, and I swallow the lump in my throat, forcing myself to talk. I could easily forge an illusion of myself, but my mind's in too much of a mess to handle it. If I tried at the moment, it would probably reflect my inner turmoil, and at best throw itself off the balcony—no doubt giving the guards yet another scare.

An involuntary gasps makes its way past my lips as the sudden influx of air fills me. "H-Heya," I manage; my voice shakes, and my fists clench. I fight myself internally and physically so I don't crumple in on myself—an implosion of emaciated flesh and brittle hopes.

Dino rolls over in an unexpectedly agile motion onto his knees beside me, and without a word, he pulls me close into a clumsy hug. His forehead collides with mine, but I'm too numb to care much. I manage a mangled giggle at his little "Ouch..." But the broken laugh that bubbles up quickly morphs into tears.

My fingers turn into claws that dig into the skin of my thighs through the fabric of the dress. His arms wrap around me tightly, and he presses me against him. My head naturally sinks down to rest on his shoulder, and for a moment I can't breathe again. My breath hitches, then the tears seem to catch up to me, and come streaming out. He breaks the dam; my arms shoot up to hold onto him tightly. He's the only lifeline I have now, and if I let go, I'll drift out into the sea of insanity.

A prickly cold sensation runs up and down my arms, and I just feel numb. But Dino, Dino's warm. My mind is swirling in a Petri dish of emotions—useless, dirty emotions festering in my heart. I want them to go away. They're dragging me down—they make me _want to die._

Dino's arms tighten around me, and when I feel a wetness flowing down the side of my neck, and it neutralizes that desperate emotion, replacing it with a quiet sadness and..._Wonder... (?)_

I sniffle, trying to compose myself, "Are...Are you _crying?"_

"No..." Dino sniffles, not letting me pull away to see his tears. "These are all your tears."

"I'm not crying!" I retort in a playful tone.

"If neither of us is crying, then whose tears are these?" Dino tries to stem his tears.

I giggle, trying hard to do the same, "I don't know."

After our tears subside, we pull away from the other, sitting back in silence. I hug my knees, head lolling back on the back of the couch, staring out at the murky outline of the shelves of old tomes. The only thing that I can see semi-clearly is Dino's fidgety figure beside me.

"Hey, um, Asha...Not to pry or anything...but...what happened?" His voice is soft as a downy feather settling on a pool of still water, and his polite, yet blunt, question barely reaches my ears.

"...My parents have been found," I answer truthfully—what point is there in lying to him? He's bound to find out anyway, with how the maids and mafia men gossip...Word travels fast..._very fast._

"That's…_good…_isn't it?" he asks hesitantly.

I shake my head slowly. "They're… _They_ got to them before I could..."

Dino seems to take the hint, and all he does is pull me to my feet. "C'mon," he says gently. "Let's get some air."

I let him lead me out into a secluded garden. I glance around warily—the sun has just set, leaving a chilling grey twilight upon the estate. This is a private garden, filled with a maze of rose bushes that tower high over our heads, one that I was not permitted to explore for it had always been heavily guarded. However, now, it's silent, and there is no one around.

Dino puts an arm around me, and although it's obviously meant to be a comforting gesture, my vulnerable mind has recovered enough to interpret it differently.

_Why's he so nice to me? Why does he keep trying to comfort me? There must be some sort of ulterior motive...though none I can work out by myself. Why would he go out of his way just to be nice to me? It doesn't make any sense! What's in it for him? Is it on his father's behalf? Is it so that they can build up 'bonds' and exploit in some way later? __Why?_

I stop in my tracks, and it's not until a few steps later that Dino pauses.

"Asha?" he calls as he turns. And that's when he crumples to the ground. His fall is mirrored by my own. My knees give out and the world spins, merging into a green and red blur. No...The world spins into a murky mess _and then_ my knees give out, and I fall into my bed of thorns.

* * *

><p>"<em>Silly child!" the warm voice reprimands laughingly. "Be more careful alright?<em>

_My lip trembles slightly as I nod._

"_Aww, you poor child; don't cry," she continues. "Come here, Mama will make it better."_

_Her warm arms envelop me and she tickles me, making me forget the pain of the boo-boo on my elbow._

"_Mama!" I protest._

"_Haha!" she laughs along with me. "Mama loves you, you know? You're Mama's precious child. Never forget that, alright?"_

* * *

><p>As soon as I get used to the warm—almost <em>welcoming—<em>atmosphere of the boy's mind, I let myself sink back under.

* * *

><p><em>The cut on my knee stings, and I shuffle through the hallways of our estate. "Mama? Mama where are you?" I search for the bright voice and the comforting warmth.<em>

_All I hear is muffled crying; deep, heart-wrenching sobs that seem to echo in my mind._

"_Father? Is that you?" I push Mama's door open, and sure enough, Father's kneeling at her bedside, crying. I blink, unsure of how to respond. So I let a smile slip onto my face as I approach him. "Father—!"_

"_Young master!" Romario quickly intercepts me, taking my hand and leading me back out the way I came in. The door closes softly behind me. _

_The pain from my cut doesn't seem to hurt as much anymore. It pales in comparison to the new pain that settles on top of my head and across my shoulders, pressing down as if to crush me, and threatens to make my chest cave in and heart blow out in an explosion of tears._

* * *

><p>I wrench myself away from the memory. I feel like…I'm intruding.<p>

* * *

><p><em>My feet swing back and forth as I sit quietly on the bridge, toes trailing in the water. My fingers busy themselves with fiddling with the tattered and fraying edges of the jacket of my school uniform. The maroon cloth feels uncomfortable against my skin. <em>

_I shrug it off and throw it on top of my shoes, then return to my staring out over the pond. It's lunchtime; I can hear the sounds of jovial laughter drifting over the wind from the other children in the schoolyard. I pulled away from them when they drew near. I didn't know whether or not I should smile at them when it was clear that it was a fake one, so I ran away. _

_And so, here I am, a week after my mother's funeral, sitting alone, picking at the rotting wood of the bridge._

* * *

><p>There is that familiar pain—<em>that wanting of something that you can't have—<em> and subconsciously, I shrink back from it. But I forge on, marching through his mind, baring his secrets out for me to read.

* * *

><p>"<em>You! Cavallone kid! What're you doing there?" a harsh voice <em>_**demands**__._

_I turn to him, preparing a half-hearted excuse for him. I never expected him to boot me off of the bridge with a loud curse. "You fucking kid! Get yer head out of yer ass and stop fucking moping around! Just looking at you fucking __**pisses me off**__!"_

_The cold water shocks me, and for a moment I flounder before spitting and flailing and somehow making it to the muddy shallows where I wade to shore. "Hey…" I try to find some words to say. I guess that's his way of telling me to cheer up, no matter how awfully maladjusted that seems. But all I can manage is that one lame word and a feeble smile._

_The silver-haired male remains on the bridge, waving his arms around and continuing to rant. When he sees my expression, his grey eyes narrow and he unsheathes his sword, pointing it at me. "And don't give me that __**shitty attitude**__ or that __**fake-ass smile**__ of yours!" he yells, accenting his words with strikes at the wooden planks of the railing._

_The metal blade slices through the support easily, and he gives me a smug smile. "You see? If you don't stop being a fucking emo, I'll slice you up like that!" He stabs his sword into the wood at his feet. And with a loud crack, the rotting wood falls apart, dunking him into the pond, ducks flying away in an explosion of feathers and furious quacking._

_A genuine smile breaks out across my face._

* * *

><p>For the next hour, I flip through different chapters of the young Cavallone heir's life. But the one chapter that I look forward to is my own debut. Vain? Yes. But this information is essential for my own survival.<p>

* * *

><p>"<em>Hey, do you hear that?" Bernardo murmurs quietly to Claudio. I know they're trying not to let me hear—for my benefit. I appreciate the effort, but truly, I hate it when they try and hide things from me. The more they hide from me, the more it alienates me, marks me as different... The more it solidifies us as heir to subordinate. Truly, they are <em>family_ to me, and I wish they would treat me as such._

"_Yes, just up ahead. There are street children. We should avoid them," Tito interrupts them in an equally soft voice._

_I scan the road ahead, alarmed at their voices, and I see them._

_It's a whirl of colour, bodies being thrown against each other, blood smeared across pavement. The tension in the air, the indiscernible growls and threats, mixes and mingles together into a toxic sludge of violence. The scampering of feet, the uneven scratches of soles across the sidewalk signalling a limp and an injured brawler—down and out—making their frantic escape, and the yells and growls and threats of a girl right in the middle of it all cuts through the night._

"_Come, young master," Paolo says genially, placing a firm hand on my back, turning me away._

_There's a heavy feeling on my heart. I know that this is wrong. We can't just leave her there! Who knows what could happen to her? I shake his hand off, breaking away from them. "Hey! Hey! Leave her alone!" I cry, running over to them. I stumble, but I catch myself, continuing on._

"_Young master!" I know that they have no choice but to follow, and soon, my entourage jumps in to keep me back as well as to break up the fight. The girl is pulled out of the tumbling mass of bodies, and shoved into me. I catch her, thrown a bit off balance. I spare her a quick glance before looking back at them. I feel just a twinge of guilt—it's not right to use them for these kinds of means..._

_The children hurry off on sight of the bigger, burlier men. I breathe a sigh before meeting the girls gaze. For a moment, I'm surprised by her vivid scarlet eyes, but I quickly remind myself that albinos are rare but not unheard of. However, that's when I notice her hair—it's an odd shade of orange. Definitely _not_ an albino... I gather myself and ask, "Are you okay?"_

_She manages a wry smile, eyes finally focusing on me. "Yeah," she says somewhat sarcastically. "I'm great."_

"_That's good to hear!" I smile at her. Part of me wants to comfort her, but she looks so wary, almost like she's scared of what I might do to her. She looks so fragile, so skinny—like powdery butterfly wings. So like a butterfly held delicately in cupped hands, I release her. _

* * *

><p>The only thing that sifting through his mind proves is my <em>own<em> guilt. He's clearly all innocent intentions. He wants nothing to do with the mafia, and simply wishes to live in peace. All he wants _is to be able to see his mother again._

* * *

><p>Eyes shooting open, head spinning, gaze whirling around wildly, I stand shakily. The last time I tried this, it was during a fight between me and a boy from the Noah side of the family. I had battered and almost broken his mind just by forcing him to stand down and back away from the fight. I remind myself to be gentle with Dino's mind as well as body, which wobbles from side to side as I get shakily to my—<em>his<em> feet. _Is it because my control is weak? Or is he naturally this shaky on his feet?_ ..._It's probably because of him. _

I blink, surveying the area. Everything looks so much brighter, so much clearer. He must have perfect, or at least, near-perfect vision. I grimace in envy then cast a glance in the direction of another body. It lies small and fragile across the trodden path, garbed in a bright yellow dress caked in mud that seems to accentuate her frailty even more so. I walk towards her, stepping lightly over the thorns that wind their way through the blades of grass. Her head and part of her neck are entangled in a particularly nasty snarl of brambles—it's as if she wears a crown of thorns.

There's something niggling in the back of my mind—_his_ mind. And then I'm forcibly ejected from his body.

* * *

><p>My eyes shoot open once again, and I close them again at the sensation of vertigo. I groan. <em>Vertigo? Why? I'm mushed into the muddy space at the root of a bush, safe on not-so-dry land.<em>

I then squeeze my eyes shut at the pain. The thorns are wrapped tightly around me, and the more I squirm, the tighter they wind around me. A figure falls to its knees beside me, and through the dim lighting through the cracks in my eyelids, I recognize Dino's blond hair, splayed out, catching the last, faint rays of sunlight—like an angel.

When my eyes, darting around wildly, focus in on his hands reaching for the thorns that have wrapped themselves like vices around my head and neck, I squirm away with a squeal and a whimper. The motion does nothing but tighten the noose around my neck. He whispers soothing words as his brow creases in concentration. He gently works out the tangles of thorns, loosening the vines and never once stops despite the scratches that his hands receive.

Finally, the rose thorns fall away. Somewhere between before and after, then and now, soft whimpers have been falling from my mouth. My whole body is shaking and I can do nothing to stop it.

He gives me a small smile, leaning over and—

My eyes widen in shock, cheeks flushing. He leans back with a sheepish smile. His expression quickly morphs into one of pain as he keels over from my punch. I snap out of it, regaining control of my body and scramble back, rubbing my knuckles. I'm pressed face-first into the mud as several Cavallone guards tackle me down. I flail around in a flustered rage, kicking and screaming, "He kissed me! He _kissed_ me!"

"That was supposed to make you feel better!" he cries back at me, clutching his stomach. _"I'm sorryyyyyyyy!"_

* * *

><p>"It's Author-san here again. So what exactly happened to your parents, Asha?"<p>

Use your imagination. That's all you need. It's one of those morbid things that you'd be better off not knowing... I thought I told you this in the last chapter...

"Aww. Is Asha _concerned_? Is she trying to preserve the innocence of her dear readers?"

No. It just takes too much effort to describe these things. And for the record—it's to preserve my own sanity, thank you very much.

"So cold, Asha! Hrmph. Dino's really too nice to you."

He's too nice to _everyone_. That's why I need to—Che! Trying to provoke me into giving out spoilers, are you, _Author-san?_ Well, now that I've caught on, the tables have turned. Anyway, I said that there wouldn't be any Author's notes...but _these...these __**things**_, these filthy little abominations bordering the story are effectively Author's Notes! Did you really think that you could sneak that past me?

"Aheh…I guess I just get a little…_carried away_ sometimes?"

That's it. Back to your closet you go! Away, you beast! Well, until next time, dear readers! And I promise I'll monitor _Author-san_'s trivial bantering more carefully from now on. Enjoy the summer heat~


End file.
